


The Ghost of Ferelden

by hippiemama3



Series: Daughters of the Storm [2]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 03:33:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15209993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippiemama3/pseuds/hippiemama3
Summary: A collection of one-shots to support Moonlight On Water.Before she joined the Inquisition, the Ghost of Ferelden had built quite a reputation for herself, traveling across Thedas and leaving a trail of bodies in her wake.





	The Ghost of Ferelden

**Author's Note:**

> These will mostly feature Talise, Valissia and Amelia will get their starring roles in their own stories later on. You don't need to read Moonlight on Water for these to make sense (hopefully). 
> 
> In the beginning of Moonlight on Water, there is a mention of Talise finding out about a rebellion brewing in Ferelden, and a plot to take the throne away from Alistair. The incident furthered Talise's reputation as an assassin, but one with a code of honor she will not break. I kept coming back to the brief outline, adding to it, and finally I decided to write a one-shot. Then I realized I could write a series of them, and add depth to Talise and Company, without making Moonlight on Water any longer than it already will be.
> 
> I am a huge fan of The Last Unicorn. I had to use a quote from the movie here, it was unavoidable. ;)

 

“Talise, you can not mean to do this”, Valissia frowned as she looked at the assassin, who was sliding a set of throwing knives into one of her knee-high boots, “You’ll be killed if the royal guards catch you.”

“I’ve got to agree with Valissia”, Amelia spoke from the lumpy mattress, her emeraldine gaze dark with worry.

“There is an active plot to overthrow the king. If we don’t get the proof into his hands, and soon, the nobles will make their move, and Alistair won’t be exiled. They’ll kill him. I’m surprised there isn’t a contract on him right now”, Talise looked up from where she bent over, tucking the knives into her boots.

“We’re lucky Zevran sent word to us about this plot”, Amelia sighed, picking at a loose string on the thread-bare quilt she was sitting on.

Neither Amelia nor Talise caught the blush on Valissia’s face at the mention of the Antivan Crow, and she buried her face in the packet of carefully folded letters and plans Talise had laying on a desk. The three of them, one assassin and two mages, were crammed into The Pearl in Denerim, hiding out amongst the prostitutes as they had come up with a plan.

A few years previous, Alistair had been crowned as king, pushed onto the throne by the Hero of Ferelden. Every noble had bent the knee to the bastard son of Maric Theirin, but in private many groused and complained. Alistair had not been raised to be king, and although he learned quickly, he pushed plans and made decisions that had struck the tradition-loving nobles to the core. While hugely popular with the common people, the new king had not always kept his nobles happy, and resentment had grown.

Now, only an assassin, the Ghost of Ferelden, and her two closest friends, stood between Alistair and a coup attempt. Talise’s reputation had steadily grown in the past few years, with every job she worked, her shadow grew longer and longer. When Zevran Arainai, formerly of the Antivan Crows, had brought them proof of a rebellion, she had given him her contracts in return, and focused on tracking down every piece of proof she could find of the rebellion. They could wait no longer, and Talise was making her move tonight.

“I don’t see why you can’t give the proof to Jordan. He’s the captain of Alistair’s royal guard, your brother. We know he’s trustworthy.” Valissia rubbed at her eyes with slim fingers as she spoke.

“If I do, it will plant a target on Jordan’s back. I would rather spare him from this.” Talise answered, tugging a black silken scarf over her head, and then lifting her chocolate dark hair into a high ponytail.

“Let me get dressed”, Amelia slid from the bed, landing on bare toes, and reached for a set of mage robes.

“You’re not seriously considering going with her?” Valissia’s grey gaze widened as she questioned Amelia, already shaking her head in refusal.

“I could use a look out” Talise grinned at Amelia, wrapping a leather strip around her hair to hold it in place.

Amelia dropped the robes, and opted for a deep gray tunic shirt, a leather vest, and matching leggings, “All the better to blend in.”

“We might make an assassin out of you yet” Talise smirked.

“You’re both crazy”, even as she sighed in defeat, Valissia slid the papers into a leather pack, wrapped a leather cord around it to seal it, and held it out.

Talise gestured to the simple drawing of the keep sitting on the table with one black leather gloved hand, “It’s simple. The garden is the weakest point in the keep, always has been. Someone built a hidden passageway between the formal sitting room off the garden to the private quarters. It opens up in the room across Alistair’s private quarters.”

“Jordan is going to kill us if he finds out this was us.” Amelia’s teeth sunk into the pouty curve of her lower lip as she studied the drawing, tugging her long, wheat colored curls into a long braid.

“We’re not going to. Jordan’s will feel duty-bound to tell Alistair who I am if he finds out. No one will believe Jordan did not know his little sister was the Ghost of Ferelden. He’ll be stripped of his title, Nightreach will be parceled off to the nobles, and I’ll face the headsman.” Talise shook her head at Amelia’s words, and picked up a matching set of long daggers, expertly fitting them into place on her back.

“Alistair won’t let you be executed.” Valissia shook her head at Talise’s words, sending waves of auburn hair cascading over her back.

“He won’t have any other choice. The landsmeet will not stand for him protecting an assassin, and you know it.”

“So, you’re saying we have to pull this off without a hitch.” Amelia tugged on a pair of gloves, tucking the sleeves of her tunic into them, and then reached for a long leather vest.

Talise met Amelia’s green gaze with her own cerulean one, and grinned, “Just like we always do.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

In the darkness of early morning, the two young women waited. Hidden in the shadows of a rooftop, they sat, both scanning the royal garden for patrols. Alistair had opened the gardens to the public, and one stone wall had been replaced by iron-wrought fencing, it gave me the perfect view to watch as the guards, yawning and bleary-eyed at the end of the overnight shift, made one last patrol. Once the guards stepped back inside, Talise leaped from the rooftop, landing with quietest of thuds, while Amelia slithered down a well-placed ladder. They both crossed the cobble stone street, it took seconds for Talise to pick the lock on the gate to the garden, and just a few seconds more for them to slink through the garden.

The carpet in the keep cushioned their footsteps as they crossed a hallway, and slipped into the sitting room Talise had spoken of. Amelia caught the closing door with the ball of her booted foot, letting it ease shut, the knob faintly clicking as it slid into place. A patrol turned the corner just as the sound faded, and the guards did not realize an assassin had breached their defenses.

Behind a rich, heavy tapestry of mabari hunting a halla, the stone wall held a secret. Talise pressed on one of the stone blocks that made up the wall, then another, and with a mechanical creak, the wall slid open. Amelia slipped through, while Talise paused to look over her shoulder, making sure no one had seen them, before she was through as well.

A spark of lightning from the storm mage lit a torch, and Amelia rose to tiptoe as she crept down the passageway, followed closely by Talise. At the doorway, they paused, looking at each other for a few moments. Talise slid a long dagger from its sheath on her back, Amelia tugged the pack of letters from a backpack, and with a slow and gentle touch, born of long years of practice, Talise opened the door. Within a few moments, they were both standing in Alistair’s private office.

His Warden armor was displayed on the wall, polished to a high shine. Papers were strewn over a large desk, along with quills and bottles of ink. The walls were covered in tapestries, all new; Alistair was shown with the Hero of Ferelden, defeating the archdemon, in another he was depicted being crowned. His royal portrait hung on one wall, he looked every inch the king, every inch of him Maric Theirin’s son, in the portrait.

Cloaked in shadows, Talise moved to the door, easing it open, while Amelia pressed herself to the wall beside it. With the door cracked, but hidden from view, the assassin watched a patrol of guards pass down the hallway. As they turned the corner, the guards standing beside Alistair’s private quarters moved, following the patrol down the hallway; the clock chimed the house, the change of guard was happening. Amelia nudged the door open wider with her foot, holding it for Talise to slip through and passing her friend the proof of the rebellion as she moved. One step, then two, then three, one final step, and Talise was at the door to the King’s private quarters.

Alistair had given up on sleep. There had been a sense of unease, some sort of tension, over the court in recent months, and it was bothering him. He could not quite put his finger on it, but something was wrong. Pondering over the problem, he had asked for water for a hot bath, and had been soaking for well past an hour, the water growing cold, when Talise and Amelia snuck into the castle.

He stood from the tub, water sluicing off his heavily muscled form, while he pushed back his strawberry-blonde hair, too long for his tastes, back from his eyes. Making a note to send for someone to trim his hair, he reached for a towel and blotted his face with it, before moving to step from the high backed, copper tub.

A larger towel stood ready for him, set near the fire, kept warm for him. Turning towards the door to his room, he reached for the towel, drying himself off. The damp towel was wrapped low around his hips, clinging to him, and he picked up the report he had been reading, some dry, boring thing written by Teagan, only to come to a stop. The shadows in front of him were moving, almost solidifying into a form, and then becoming hazy once more.

From the outer room in the royal chambers, Talise had heard the water splashing, and she had walked to the doorway. Only long years of practice had kept her from dropping her stealth, and the packet of letters she held. In his bedchamber, Alistair had just risen from a deep tub, firelight sparkling off the water droplets that streamed down his well-muscled form. The crush she had nursed when she was younger, just after he was crowned king and her brother put on the royal guard, rushed back to her, and her heart thumped painfully against her ribs for a moment.

She was entirely unable to keep a hot blush from rising to her porcelain smooth cheeks, and in the moment, her skills failed her. Every shadow melted away, and when Alistair turned, she was standing in the doorway, her face hidden from view beneath the scarf she wore, pulled up over high cheekbones, and the hood of the cloak pulled over her dark head.

Alistair reached instinctively for the sword he normally wore, only to remember he wore nothing but a fire-warmed, damp towel. A blush rose up his muscled chest, darkening his golden skin, and across his cheekbones as he stood in front of the cloaked figure, aware that he was nearly naked, had been naked just moments ago, and aware that his life could be in danger, “Who sent you?”

“It’s not what you think”, moving slowly, never taking her sky touched gaze from his face, Talise moved, reaching out towards a small side-table, “You need to read everything in this. The nobles are not all as loyal to you as they seem.”

“I’m aware of that. Are you aware that you could be put to death for breaking into my castle?” Muscled arms folded over an equally muscled chest, water still gleaming across his golden skin.

“It was worth the risk. The nobles listed in these papers are plotting to overthrow you and install Anora back on the throne. I doubt the intelligence of your Spymaster, since he seems to be clueless.”

“I doubt the intelligence of the captain of my guards, since you are standing here, and there has been no alarm raised.”

“You need to increase security in the garden Your Majesty. It was all too easy.”

“I’ll remember that”, he had taken several small steps as they spoke, and now one large arm shot out, grabbing the cloaked figure around the wrist, his still calloused hands clamping down around a remarkably thin wrist.

Talise froze, her eyes lifting to Alistair as he stood in front of her, and the towel slipped precariously lower on his hips as he held her by the wrist. Even nearly naked, with no weapons, Alistair would still pose a formidable threat, any noise would alert anyone nearby, and soon the hallways would be filled with fresh guards, servants, nobles, and Alistair’s advisors.

Longer than he should have, Alistair stood frozen to the thick carpet of his bedroom. Peering up at him from the deep shadows of a dark gray hooded cloak was a familiar pair of eyes. He knew those eyes, he just could not place them, the rush of adrenaline was making it hard for him to focus. Those eyes, almost glowing in shades of blue, drew him in.

The leather packet had slipped through Talise’s suddenly sweaty fingers and landed with a harder thud than she intended. She jumped as the noise echoed through the quiet room, but it served a distraction, Alistair looked at the packet, tucked atop the letters was a square of plain white parchment, there was a hint of two crossed daggers on the edge that was visible.

“The Ghost of Ferelden?” as a former templar, and former Grey Warden, Alistair had been keenly interested in the exploits of the assassin as Ghost gained more and more notoriety. The assassin had seemed to target the worst in society, often acting when there was not enough proof to bring charges, or when someone escaped punishment. No one had even seen the Ghost, a person died, proof of their misdeeds was left with the body, and the assassin escaped into the night. Looking down at the small figure in front of him, he frowned in confusion, “Do you work for the Ghost?”

Talise shook her head. Pride kept her from lying, she was fiercely proud of her reputation, of the work she had done, she did not work for the Ghost of Ferelden, she _was_ Ghost. Alistair’s hand tightened around her wrist until the bones ached, and she fought back a wince, thankful for the shadows that hid most of her face.

“Are you… Are you the Ghost of Ferelden?” The question hung in the air, the king had barely dared to speak it as he looked down at the assassin standing in front of him.

For an answer, Talise reached for her hip, sliding a short dagger from her hip with a hiss of metal, the sound a quiet threat in the stillness of the room. Well-trained in battle, Alistair’s muscles tightened in anticipation, he had no weapons, they were across the room, he was naked, there was nothing to protect him against even the small blade the assassin held, and there was no telling what poison the dagger might be coated in.

He let go of the slim wrist he held, and lifted both hands in surrender, stepping back from the figure, “There is proof of a rebellion in these?”

There was a whisper of cloth as Talise nodded, the movement tugging her cloak back from the delicate bones of her face for just a moment, before it dropped back over her features once more, “Letters between the nobles, money they have been withholding from taxes, the movements of their men at arms and personal troops. It’s all there.”

“Thank you.” Even as he spoke his gratitude, Alistair’s mind was whirling. He _knew_ this person, somehow, but the faces of all the people he was supposed to know, did know, or had met whirled through his brain at once. He was sure though, that he knew this assassin, he had seen her summer bright gaze before.

Slowly she stepped towards the door, then backed up several more steps towards the main door of his quarters. The bell tolled again, and Talise jolted, she had not meant to spend so much time in his quarters, the guards would be coming to his room, and soon advisors would be there as well. She could well be trapped, if she did not move, and move fast. Alistair followed her, keeping his hands held up, palms outward, curiosity shining in his gaze; the urge to know who was beneath that hood was nearly over-powering.

At the door to his quarters, the assassin peered through the crack, and then flicked that startling gaze back to Alistair, “Be well, my King.”

He lunged then, aiming to grab the assassin by the arm once more, but the figure slipped from his grasp, disappearing into a shadow as she crossed the hallway. Just as the door across from him, his office, slid shut, the morning guards rounded the corner, and came to a stop. The king was standing in the doorway to his quarters, holding onto a towel with one hand, just barely covered, looking across the hallway.

For a split second, Alistair wavered. He should yell, alert the guards, have the entire city of Denerim searched and scoured for the assassin who had just broken into his castle. Yet, for some reason, he stayed his hand, and said nothing to the guards, shutting the door behind him, and locking it, for good measure. A few strides brought him to the small desk where the hand-delivered proof lay. He picked up the first letter, the one that had alerted him, and saw the small, crossed daggers in gray wax on the seal. That one he broke first, carrying it with him to the oaken wardrobe that held his clothes.

_Alistair,_

_In these letters you will find proof of a plot against you within Denerim and all of Ferelden. I have collected as much as I can, but I am sure more exists. Your inner circle is completely ignorant of all that is going on, I would give serious thought to new advisors, especially your Spymaster._

_He had no idea I was in Denerim, or even Ferelden, and the comings and goings of an assassin should be of upmost importance._

_You are a good king. Ferelden needs stability more than anything else right now, and you can give it._

_If I may be so bold, stop leading as others would have you lead, and lead as you think you should. Lead with your heart and your head, they haven’t let you down so far._

_Be well, my King._

_Ghost_

 

It had been the end to a long and trying day. Alistair was sitting in his private office, sitting down, for the first time in hours. Before most of the nobles were awake for breakfast, Alistair had fired half his advisors, and seen his Spymaster personally escorted from the keep.

His most trusted generals had been sent to several banns, he had given them their orders himself, in whispered conversations, the royal proclamations they carried were not to be opened until they reached their destinations. With some luck, the rebellious nobles would not know that he was on to their scheming until soldiers from Denerim were on their lands, and there would be no place to run. At least he had listened to Mahariel’s suggestion and sent Anora overseas, things would be even more complicated if he had kept her in Fort Drakon, as many of the nobles had wanted.

There was much work to be done, but for now, he considered this a victory. A victory he owed to a small statured assassin, with an evocative cerulean gaze. All through the day he had been plagued by the memory of those eyes, staring at him from the shadows of a hood. He knew those eyes, knew who they belonged to.

“Begging your pardon, Your Majesty. Do you want dinner brought up here?” the baritone voice of one of his guards, a young man his own age, broke through Alistair’s thoughts. The King looked up, from his paperwork, and paused, holding a report in his hands. Jordan Montgomery, recently raised to bann, stood in the doorway, completely filling it with his frame. He nearly six and a half feet tall, making him one of the few people Alistair had to physically look up to. His tanned skin gave away his Rivaini heritage, but anyone who knew Hale Montgomery, saw the famed mercenary captain in Jordan as well. It was his eyes though, Alistair was staring into a pair of eyes that nearly matched those he had been so intrigued by this morning.

“That would be fine. Thank you”, Alistair waved the guard in. Jordan had been more than helpful this morning, he was one of the few that knew the keep had been infiltrated by an assassin, and had walked with Alistair, pointing out the flaws he saw in the castle’s security.  The more experienced members of Alistair’s inner circle had been forced, however reluctantly, to agree with the young guard.

“Tell me, Lord Montgomery, is your sister in town?” He fought to keep his voice even, unwilling to alert Jordan to his sudden suspicions.

Jordan raised a dark eyebrow at the question, then shook his head no at the answer, “No. She wrote that she was coming down from the Free Marches, but I don’t expect her until the end of the week at the earliest. She’s traveling with her friends, doubtless they’ve stopped to shop on whatever she spends her money on. More lacy dresses.”

Alistair did not take Jordan’s brotherly dismissal of Talise so easily, and for a moment he wished for Leliana’s talent at weaseling information out of people, “She’s been up in the Free Marches long?”

“Aye. Traipsing all over Thedas with her friends. She went up to Rivain to see my aunt and has taken her sweet time coming home.”

“I see. She is more than welcome to stay here when she visits, your family has earned the crown’s loyalty with all you have given.”

“Thank you, your majesty.”

Alone with his thoughts, Alistair stared at the papers Ghost had given him, while thinking of Jordan’s little sister, Talise. Jordan was too tall, too broad, and not in any way adept in the ways of an assassin. His reaction this morning had cleared him of any suspicion, despite any family resemblance to the intruder, he had nearly rushed from the castle armed with just a sword, intent on finding the assassin. Talise was an entirely different matter though, she moved with an almost ethereal grace, her steps fluid, light; she had a particular way of standing completely still, balanced on the balls of her feet. She was indescribably beautiful, Alistair found himself blushing almost any time she looked at him, as did many men, anytime she had visited there had been numerous offers for her hand, inquiries about her, the court bard had even composed a song about her.

Alistair stepped from his room, nodding at Jordan and the other guard, a son to a bann, and crossed into his private office. There was a report on his desk, new enough he had not had time to do more than acknowledge it. It was that report he grabbed, scanning it and then grabbing a handful of markers, heading to the map of Thedas spread out over a table. For half a candle, he carefully laid out markers, the report tracked the Ghost of Ferelden, or more specifically, it tracked the assassin’s known kills. Antiva, just south of the Rivaini border, into Rialto, avoiding Antiva City itself, across the Free Marches.

Here, Alistair stopped in the report, a man had shown up in Kirkwall, begging for protection from an assassin. He had borrowed money, hired guards, and he had been killed; but not before he signed a full confession, he had beaten and raped a young elven servant. The man had been stalked by the Ghost, the assassin not killing quickly as was his, no her, wont. Instead she had broken into his home on several occasions, ruining his fancy clothes, forged his signature on bank documents and emptied his accounts, left taunting messages on his doorstep several times. On the brink of sanity, he had written a confession, sworn in it that he was not coerced, admitted his crimes, and then he had been found, sitting at an opulent dinner, his neck snapped.

If Talise had left Kirkwall in a day or so after that kill, that would put her back in Denerim… Alistair looked at the calendar, counting days. She would have gotten here a few days ago, if she had taken a fast ship.

“Maker’s Breath…” Suddenly dizzy, Alistair dropped into a chair, cradling his head in his hands, staring sightlessly at the door. The answer to a question that had plagued soldiers, guards, even the Grey Wardens had once hunted for the assassin, likely to try and recruit her, had been under his very nose for years. The idea was nearly laughable, that a woman so delicately built, she was tiny, so beautiful, could be a lethal assassin, “That’s how she does it. No one would look at her and believe she is an assassin. Jordan would think I’ve lost my mind were I to broach it to him.”

The large mabari, sleeping by the fire, lifted a massive head and blinked up at him in confusion. He was long used to his master’s rambling, and with a yawn, the dog settled back down. Watching the mabari, Alistair remembered the day Talise had played with the mabari pups down by the stables. The dogs were legendary for their ferocious nature, but Talise had charmed and won over every single dog in the kennel, much to the amusement of the kennel master. The dog laying in front of him, one of his personal favorites, had even tried to crawl into Talise’s lap, and had knocked the woman backwards into the mud in the process, “And that is why she went out of her way to feed you. You wouldn’t alert me to a friend’s presence, and you know her. You disloyal mutt.”

Despite his words, Alistair grins at the dog, leaning down to rub the dog’s ears affectionately, “You’re not the only man to fall for her charms, and I doubt you’ll be the last. She doesn’t even have to flirt with someone, not like Leliana did, or Zevran. She just simply stands in a room and all the air is sucked from it.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Talise showed up in the keep on the exact day Jordan had predicted, seemingly appearing out of thin air. She was standing in a hallway when her older brother swept her in a hug, tugging her from her feet and spinning her in a circle, clutching her small frame to him with powerfully muscled arms, until she squeaked a protest.

“I’ve been made captain of the guard Talise!!” Gone was the serious look Jordan wore, and instead he was laughing as he squeezed his baby sister in a tight hug.

“What an honor! Now you’ll attract even more flirtatious looks from the women at his court.” Talise giggled at her brother’s actions, he was over a foot taller than she was, and swept her off the floor like she was a child. Any other person would have received a dagger in their throat for such an action, but Talise’s affection for her brother was apparent as she smiled at him.

“It’s been extremely busy, I have something to tell you, but you must keep it a secret.” Setting her down carefully, as though his little sister was made of delicate glass, Jordan gestured towards his room.

Standing in Jordan’s new room, she listened to her brother’s story. It was slightly surreal to hear the tale of her break-in from someone else. The Ghost of Ferelden had broken in, brought proof to Alistair himself, and even as they stood there, soldiers were rounding up the rebellious nobles, and bringing them to Denerim.

“Alistair is now indebted to Ghost”, Jordan finished. Despite himself, there was a note of awe and respect in his voice as he spoke of the assassin.

Talise had looked out the window in Jordan’s room as he spoke, a wave of guilt running through her. She had never, in all her life, kept a secret from her brother, and the idea that she was doing it now ate at her. Her well-trained ears caught the waver in Jordan’s voice, and she cocked an eyebrow at her brother, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you liked this… Ghost.”

“You have to respect someone who would put everything on the line to do the right thing. That’s what Ghost does, the right thing. When the law won’t let us make something right, the Ghost does it. Made my life miserable this week though, having to find all the ways to get into the keep”, Jordan sighed, leaning his massive frame against his desk.

“What did Alistair say about it?” Talise’s slim hand reached out for one of Jordan’s shirts, toying with the hem of it absently as she spoke.

“He thinks it’s a woman by the way.” Jordan looked at his young sister, rubbing at one of his shoulders as he spoke.

“He… he thinks the Ghost of Ferelden is a woman?” Talise froze at Jordan’s words, keeping her gaze from her brother, and firmly pinned on his shirt. After a moment she started picking at a loose thread.

“He described the Ghost as very short stature, slim, with thin wrists. Could be a woman. Could be an elf.” Jordan watched Talise, rolling her eyes at her, “Are my shirts not up to your standards?”

“What??” Talise frowned, looking up at her brother, “Oh… no. The stitching is coming out. But I know you, you only buy new clothes when your old ones wear out.”

“You can go shopping for me while you’re here then”, Jordan leaned over to his sister, drawing her in for a hug, and ruffling her loose hair affectionately, “Your room should be ready, it’s just down the hall. Let’s get you settled and fed, you’re too thin.”

“Maker… not this again.” Sighing, Talise let herself be drawn out of Jordan’s room, and down the hallway towards her own.

At the end of the hallway, Alistair stood, conversing with one of his generals. When Jordan made an appearance, his muscled arm slung around a familiar figure with dark hair, the king sucked in a breath and held it, simply nodding as the man across from him continued to speak of troop training and progress on quashing the rebellion. So far it had been a bloodless effort, none of the nobles had been ready to stand against Alistair, and when both Teryn Cousland and Arl Tegan offered troops and joined with Alistair, the rebellion crumbled.

His mind was not on the rebellion though. It was on the young woman standing in the doorway to a room, talking to Jordan. The sunlight that spilled in from a window sent highlights of red and gold through her hair and highlighted her pale skin. Unlike her brother, she had not inherited much in the way of the Rivaini looks; and instead favored her mother, and the Montgomery line. She was unaccountably beautiful, with high cheekbones, and thick lashes that obscured that startling blue gaze.

“Lord Montgomery’s sister is beautiful, isn’t she?” the general, upon realizing he had lost Alistair’s attention, had followed the king’s warm hazel gaze, and was admiring Talise.

“That she is. I keep telling Jordan she is the most beautiful woman in all of Ferelden”, Alistair murmured the words, keeping his tone light.

“All of Thedas, I would wager. She is more beautiful than Anora was, when your brother married her”.

“I’ve heard that said before.” Alistair agreed. As the two men spoke, Talise turned to look at them, pausing in the sunlight, and freezing in place in her peculiar way. For a moment she kept her gaze down, her head turned to her brother as he spoke; nodding in agreement to his words, she finally lifted her chin, and then her lashes, meeting Alistair’s gaze. The moment seemed to stretch out, to almost freeze, as she looked up at him with her cerulean gaze.

Alistair sucked in another brother as he looked at her, certainty flowing through him. The shadow cloaked assassin that had snuck into his keep, and then his private quarters, the Ghost of Ferelden, was standing in front of him. One of the most deadly and proficient assassins he had ever seen was the younger sister to his captain of the guard, a woman capable of felling anyone that crossed her path, was standing on the red carpet that lined the hallways of the castle. His general was right, she was the most beautiful woman in all Thedas.

_I know you. A pace, a glance, a turn of the head, the flash of your throat as you breathe... even your way of standing perfectly still. I know you._


End file.
